Mistaken Assumptions
by MellaBrooke
Summary: Months after the Battle of Hogwarts, George has a mistaken assumption about Molly's plans... George/Luna; Not epilogue compliant.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. I'm back. :)**

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><p>Mistaken Assumptions<p>

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><p>"Don't you think it's a little strange that he hasn't dated anyone since the War?" The bushy haired brunette who had spoken was standing beside a ladder that her tall, ginger boyfriend was currently climbing in an effort to put up stock. Though she spoke to him, her brown gaze was on his brother who stood all the way across the empty store, reading over the letter she had just delivered from their mother.<p>

In response, Ron continued to dilligently stock the vomit-inducing candies on the shelves. As he saw it, George's life was his own and he could do whatever he wanted. He was only there to help out when George let him. He was not there to meddle with his brother's love life, which, he knew, was what Hermione and his mother were surely planning.

Beside him, Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other as a demonstration of her frustration with the situation. "I know it's been difficult for him without..." she began, her voice firm for a moment before she felt her throat constrict, causing the sentence to trail off into silence.

Of course, she should've remembered that not everyone had been able to so easily handle their post-War lives. After all, she had been with the Weasleys every single day since the fight against Voldemort had finally came to an end on the second of May earlier that year. She had witnessed first hand the misery and loss written so plainly on each of their faces when they had laid Fred to rest. She also knew exactly how his death had affected each person, from Arthur to Ginny. Out of all of the Weasleys, though, no one took it harder than George.

Still, Hermione couldn't help but think if the right woman came along... some of the life that the twins once radiated would return to George. This idea wasn't her own, but more of Molly's. She had confided her hopes into Hermione and the brunette had eagerly offered to help in anyway possible. Anything for the family.

"'Mione, I don't think it's our business."

"But it's almost Christmas, Ron. We can't just let him spend another holiday alone in that bloody flat. It's breaking your mother's heart even more."

At that, Ron stilled. Though his mother could be infuriating occasionally, he knew that George's self-inflicted solitary confinement did upset her deeply. It was the one argument Hermione had on her side.

With a sigh, he looked down at his girlfriend and decided that, though women were foolish romantics occasionally, they probably did know what was best. After all, if he had been in George's place, he was certain Hermione would've been just the miracle he needed.

"What do I do?"

Hermione smiled at Ron's response, pleased that he had finally conceded.

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><p>"Who's coming to Christmas dinner?" George asked, staring in disbelief at the fireplace in his flat.<p>

His mother's face glared out at him from the fire. "That Lovegood girl. Hermione invited her, the poor girl. You know her father died and she has no one to take her in."

He rolled his eyes at that. Molly was a kind soul, of course, but he could just tell when she had ulterior motives and now was one of those times.

Though he was sure she did want to extend an inviation to their neighbor, the entire set up screamed 'TRAP!'

"And why exactly do I have to be there?"

Molly made a sound of aggrevation and George knew he'd struck a nerve again.

"You have to be here because you're a member of this family, George," she replied angrily, the fire around her flaring with the increased volume of her voice.

George leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "But what does me being there have to do with Lovegood being there?"

Though she tried very hard to hide it, George saw her lips quirk in the faintest of smirks before she straightened her face. "I only said you might try to be friendly to her. Ron and Hermione won't be there long and Harry and Ginny are going to be with Teddy for his first Christmas, so you could entertain her while she's with us."

He arched a brow. "She's staying for a while then?"

"Just until a portkey can be arranged to take her back to Romania," Molly explained. "It won't hurt you to be a gentleman, will it?"

"It might," George quipped. Then, before his mother could scold him, he continued. "But I'll be there regardless."

He knew that if he declined to come, his mother would finally make good on her threat to send his father, Bill and Charlie to fetch him, which was one visit he just didn't want to deal with.

"Good. I'll expect you tomorrow evening then."

George nodded and spent the next few moments exchanging long, drawn out goodbyes with her before he was finally free to turn in his chair and examine his desk. As it had been for the past few days, it was scattered with order forms, which had came flooding into his office recently. If little else could be said about the holidays, they were certainly good for business.

Though many others would complain about the late orders, George relished them. If he had more orders to fill, then he would have more excuses to give his family for why he was less prompt in returning their owls or dropping in.

Truthfully, being with his family only reminded him that their family would never be whole again and, by extension, he would never be whole again. The knowledge of that ate away at him and so he tried as much as possible to keep to himself in the little flat above his shop.

He knew that his mother was hurt by his actions, which was the only reason he had been so compliant with her wishes for Christmas. He had talked to her so infrequently in the last few months that he was sure she was worried about him, but after he had attended her meal and spent time with her, he hoped she would be content to leave him alone for another few months.

So, as he packed for his trip to the Burrow, his worry about the days to come were minimal. He would go, eat, chat, sleep and then return to the safety and solidarity of his flat.

Or, at least, that's what he thought.

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><p><strong>The mistakes are probably numerous because it's 5AM, but I had the idea and I just had to write until I came to a good stopping point! I hope you enjoyed it so far... though nothing has happened yet. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, this is awkward... I'm back. Finally.**

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><p>Mistaken Assumptions<p>

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><p>It was just past dusk by the time George finally arrived at the Burrow.<p>

His tall, gangly form appeared with a pop just outside the gate, a scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck and a small travel case in his hand. For as long as he possibly could, he made excuses about why he needed to stay later at his flat - citing his need to fill the last minute Christmas orders before he left, then his need to repack his things just once more... but after most of the day had passed, he could put it off no longer and he was forced to gather up his things and apparate to the house he had grown up in.

As he looked at it now, he wanted to think of it as home. But he couldn't. At best, it was the house his mum and dad occupied alone now that most of their children had grown up and moved elsewhere. At worst, it was a reminder that anywhere he lived would never again be "home."

Even before he started walking towards the house, the front door opened and he saw the plump form of his mother standing in the entryway, framed by the light coming from the kitchen. The ancient clock had obviously alerted her to his arrival.

"George, dear," she greeted, waving him on. There was genuine delight in her voice to see her son.

"Mum," he replied, opening the gate and walking up the short way to where his mother stood. His greeting was calm, but held distinct warmth. After all, he had missed her.

Molly had her hands on his hips when he finally reached her, but her stance was welcoming regardless. "You certainly took your time."

He gave her a half-hearted smile that was not at all like the crooked grin he used to give her. "Sorry, mum. I let the time get away from me."

She returned his smile with one of her own, reaching out to pull him to her, hugging him. Her hold on him was tight - as if she were frightened he would leave her. This was not missed by George, who wrapped his arms around her easily, rest his head on top of hers and just held her. They stood like that for several moments.

Once she had pulled back to look at him, she brushed at a few stray tears on her cheeks. Then the smile that had been on her face faded slightly as she looked him over. He was thin - too thin. And his eyes... he looked like he hadn't been sleeping much if at all. She knew if she commented on it, George would brush it off so she merely smiled and held her tongue - for once.

"Well you're here and that's what matters," she replied instead, a moment before ushering him into the house, which was as warm as he had remembered it being.

Upon entering the kitchen, he resisted the urge to look at the clock that hung just to his right on the wall. It was the same clock that had alerted his parents to his arrival moments ago... and the same clock that now only showed twelve faces when there should've been thirteen.

It seemed to him that the urge to look grew harder and harder to ignore each time he visited. He kept thinking that maybe if he looked at it, he would wake up from this nightmare he'd been living in for a year. But the knowledge that nothing would ever make things how they were kept him from doing so. Nothing would bring his old life back. Nothing.

Before he could delve too far into the thoughts that had been constantly plaguing his mind over the last year, someone spoke to him.

"My, you're deep in thought," the soft, feminine voice commented airily.

George lifted his gaze from the table, where his eyes had been focused for a while; looking, but not really seeing.

The large grey eyes that met his brown ones didn't surprise him - after all, he had expected to see her, but they did catch him off guard. For some reason, he hadn't noticed how similar her eyes were to the patronuses they had spent so much time casting in Dumbledore's Army together.

Luna smiled slightly, looking whimsical as she stared at him, unblinking. "I'm sorry. Did I interrupt you?"

It took a moment, but George shook his head, his lips quirking slightly in the beginnings of a smile that never came. "No, it wasn't important," he began. "How are you, Luna?"

She continued to smile as she spoke. "Your mother has made me feel very comfortable here. Except for the mistletoe. I've warned her about the nargles, but she hasn't taken them down yet..."

Molly briefly looked over her shoulder at them from where she stood, preparing the treacle pudding for dessert. George saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and decided to humor her.

"I don't think Mum understands the damage nargles can do," he informed Luna. "I'll try to talk some sense into her."

Though Luna should've been pleased by the words, her expression didn't change as she looked up at him. It was a bit eerie, really, the way she just smiled and stared. It almost seemed like she could see everything about a person just by looking at them. It was unnerving.

"Thank you, George."

He gave her the slightest of smiles. "It's the least I can do."

Pleased with her son's conversation with the Lovegood girl, Molly turned back to preparing the dessert. She was hopeful that her scheming with Hermione would work out in the end, but it was difficult to tell just yet.

Meanwhile, Luna continued staring at George in her dreamy way until he finally excused himself to go find either Ron or Bill.

Within just a few moments of leaving the kitchen, he found Bill and Fleur in the living room, hanging stockings.

"Finally," Bill greeted, giving his brother an easy smile . "Mum's been going mad. She was about ten minutes from sending us to drag you out of your flat by force."

"If I would've known you were making Ron wait until I got here to eat, I would've gotten here sooner," he began in response as he looked about at the room, which was covered in more Christmas decorations than he had ever remembered. "I'm sure he's been bloody unpleasant."

His older brother chuckled lightly. They all knew their youngest brother often got cranky if he didn't get to eat when he liked. "Hermione locked him in his old room after an hour. It was unbearable."

At the mention of rooms, George remembered that he would be staying in the room from his childhood, the room he had shared with...

"Alright there?"

His attention snapped to Bill. "Me? Fine. Just tired."

Tired. One of his many excuses. Bill knew that, but he didn't press. It was George's favorite thing about his brother; Bill never pressed.

"Your father has zee firewhiskey in zee kitchen," Fleur offered, trying to be helpful as she waved her wand about in order to continue decorating the fireplace. "Maybe it vill cheer you."

George gave his sister in law a slight smile and a nod of acknowledged thanks. "Maybe I'll give it a try in a second. For now, I think I'm just going to go upstairs. Wash up for dinner."

The pair nodded in understanding as he turned and left the room.

He let his feet lead him around the house of their own accord, heading up, but not in the direction of the bathroom. By the time he realized where he was, it was too late. Looking up from the floor, he saw his bedroom door.

The sign that they had put up the summer before their sixth year was still there, warning anyone against sudden entry, and there was still a bit of the door charred off from an experiment gone wrong. It was exactly like he remembered it - as if he had just left yesterday.

Lifting a hand up, he pressed his palm against the wooden door and felt a pang in his chest. "Mischief managed..."

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><p><strong>I'm so sorry if it's terrible. I wanted to update so badly... and I tried very hard to make it match the last chapter, but it was hard. I hope you guys like it! <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh ho! Didn't expect to see me so soon, did you? Yeah, neither did I. But, alas, here I am. Hope it's not too disappointing! :)**

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><p>Mistaken Assumptions<p>

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><p>Somehow, George managed to pull himself away from the second floor and his own miserable thoughts with enough time to head up the next flight of stairs, wash up and return to the kitchen before anyone had to call or come looking for him. He knew this would relieve his mother because she didn't like to let him out of her sight for too long.<p>

When he walked in, he made sure to acknowledge Molly, who was setting their food on the table, before he looked over to his younger brother, noting the slight space left between Ron and Hermione. He wasn't sure if the distance was because Ron was still quite ill about having to wait to eat or if it was for his benefit because he was alone. Either way, he didn't linger long on it before he turned to greet his father, who beckoned him over to his side.

"How's business?" Arthur asked, watching as his son slid into the seat closest to him. In the last year, Arthur hadn't known how to approach his son. He had worried about him - just as Molly had, but pretending like their family hadn't been completely devestated by the war was almost impossible for him.

"Things are good," George replied. "The place is mad around Christmas. My desk is overflowing with all the orders for weeks."

Molly, who had finally taken her seat at the opposite side of the table, spoke at that. "Maybe it's time you considered a bit of a vacation then, dear. All that work has to be overwhelming."

A look was exchanged between husband and wife before Arthur replied. "I'm sure George can handle it." _I'm sure all the work helps him handle other things._

Their son nodded. "Between Ron and I, we've got it covered."

His brother seemed to take notice of the mention of his name and looked up from the chicken he had been eyeing. "Hm?"

"Nothing, Ron," Hermione assured him. "George was just talking about the shop."

Bill, across the table from Hermione and Ron, chuckled lightly. "Just go back to what you were doing. Maybe if you look sad enough, mum'll let you eat."

That comment warranted a glare from the youngest Weasley boy, but he said nothing in response.

"Well, Molly, we're all here. Can we eat now?" Arthur inquired, looking down the table at his wife, who sat directly opposite him in the other head seat of the table.

His wife shook her head, batting Ron's hand away from the chicken. "Not yet. Luna's still upstairs."

Ron groaned. "Can someone go get her then? I'm starving."

His girlfriend rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ronald..."

Before an argument could break out between them, George stood. "I'll go see if she got way-laid by the ghoul's rattling."

Hermione and Molly shared a pleased look before the latter smiled. "That's a dear. Go tell our guest dinner's ready."

"She's staying in Ginny's old room," Hermione added helpfully. "She might still be up there."

He nodded in acknowledgement before he turned to leave the kitchen, heading to the stairs. But before he got there, he heard a sound coming from the backyard. It was faint, but it sounded as if someone were talking.

With an arched brow, he turned around and started heading for the back door. As he drew closer to the door, the words grew louder and became easier to make out.

"And you mustn't blame him for it. He can't help it."

Opening the door, George stepped carefully out into the grass and continued to make his way to the source of the voice, which he knew by now was their missing house guest. But what was she doing outside?

"Luna?" he asked as he approached her. It was easy to spot her in the darkness, the moon making her blonde hair all the brighter.

A brief moment passed before she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "Did you want to join me?"

He paused where he stood, just a few feet from her. "Mum wanted me to tell you dinner was ready."

For a moment, she didn't stay anything as she turned back to look up at the sky. Then... "It's very nice out tonight. You can almost hear the moon frogs."

Instead of asking what she was talking about, he merely stood there and silence enveloped them again.

"George?" Her voice had taken on the dreamy quality he remembered from Hogwarts.

"Yes, Luna?"

"I miss my father."

The words surprised George. He, of course, had known Xenophillius had died shortly after the war, but he hadn't considered that Luna might still be dealing with it. After all, Luna so rarely showed emotions. Then, of course, there was the fact that out of everyone he could've shared her admission with, she had chosen him. Surely Ginny or Hermione would've been able to comfort her better than he could. Especially when he had such a difficult time pulling himself together...

"I'm sorry, Luna," he replied after a moment.

She shifted to look at him again, her eyes looking particularly silver in the glow of the moon. "It's alright."

They looked at each other like that for another few moments before Luna climbed to her feet. "Did your mother say there was pudding?" she asked.

Then, without waiting for a response, she walked past him towards the house.

His brow creased as he watched her walk away. What had she been doing out here? Had she been talking to some mythical creature she had made up?

He glanced up at the sky, pondering it for a moment before deciding to chalk it up to Luna's eccentric ways. Then, without another thought on it, he returned to the house for dinner.

Halfway during dinner, Ron and Hermione had excused themselves, making apologies to Molly for leaving early. Hermione promised they would return the next day, but that they had made plans to pop in at the Grangers' tonight before they returned to their flat.

Aside from their departure and a tense moment when Fleur had almost offended Molly's cooking, the dinner went off as smoothly as a Weasley dinner ever had.

After everyone had finished eating, Arthur and Bill had moved into the sitting room to discuss work while Fleur helped Molly clean the kitchen.

With his family elsewhere, George thought for a moment that he was alone at the table. As his eyes swept over the table, he saw that was not the case. He had forgotten, of course, that Luna was still there.

It was strange and a bit unnerving to find she was staring at him. It was not an intense stare, but her eyes were so large that her gaze seemed piercing in spite of her dreamy expression.

There was a moment that passed where he looked at her in return, wondering why she seemed so enthralled by him. After all, he had never been the charming brother. He'd never been the funny one. He had always been the support. Sure, he got a few quips in here and there, but everyone knew he wasn't the ring leader.

"I think wrackspurts must have gotten in your head," she began after a bit. "Your eyes look like they've gone a bit fuzzy."

George blinked. "Wrackspurts. Yeah, that must be it..."

"Were you thinking again? I'm sorry if I interrupted."

He shook his head at her, his hand absently toying with a piece of chipped wood on the table. "No, Luna, you didn't interrupt anything. I was just thinking of turning in for the night." Not like he'd be able to sleep in that room, but he didn't want to be left alone with his parents. They would try to talk to him and, in case his self-imposed solitude didn't make it perfectly clear, he didn't want to talk about anything.

Luna just continued to watch him, tilting her head slightly as she did.

No one said anything for the next few moments, except the occasional instruction from Molly about where Fleur was to put something.

"I would like to see your room," Luna said, breaking the silence.

George's brown gaze flickered to her, taken aback. She wanted to see their room? No one had seen their - no, it was his room now - since they were younger.

But in spite of that, the ginger found himself sliding to his feet with an agreement on his lips.

"Come on then."

He wasn't sure why he had agreed, but now that she stood to follow him, he felt slightly comforted. At least he wouldn't have to confront the empty room alone. He wasn't sure if he could handle it.

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><p><strong>I hope you guys liked this chapter. I'm trying to keep all the characters as much in character as I can. Except George, of course... But that's understandable, right?<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I know I royally suck at updating... I have no excuses. **

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><p>Mistaken Assumptions<p>

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><p>The walk upstairs seemed much shorter to George than it had earlier. This might've been due to how conscious he was of his movements around Luna or it could've been because he no longer had to face the room alone.<p>

Whatever the reason was, George didn't care. He wasn't preoccupied with worrying about anything except for the fact that he would finally face the room he had grown up in. His only hope was that Luna's presence would somehow keep him from feeling as if someone had just cast a very powerful crucio curse on him. Because, honestly, that was what it had felt like going back to the store - back to their flat. It was painful knowing that the other half of him was gone.

"Do you need a moment?" Luna asked, standing just behind him. Her expression gave no sign of any emotion, except that her grey eyes were less dreamy than they typically were. Less dreamy and more serious. He briefly noted that the seriousness seemed all wrong on her face.

There was a brief pause between her question and his response, during which George merely looked at her. As he did, he felt a slight feeling of calm. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he was grateful for it.

"I'm fine." His words, softly spoken, were understood as she nodded.

Turning back towards the door, George lifted a hand to touch the doorknob, which was cold against his fingers in spite of the fact that it was summer.

Slowly, he twisted the knob and with a loud creak, the door slowly slid open.

Behind him, Luna tilted her head to see around his shoulder, trying to see into the dark room that held most of his childhood memories.

Reaching into his back pocket, George pulled out his wand and whispered "Lumos," quietly before he took a hesitant step into the room. After he was just inside the doorway, his eyes were drawn immediately to what was once Fred's bed. It was still unmade – a sign that his mother hadn't yet been able to face the room either. His heart felt heavy at the sight and at the thought, but he quickly looked elsewhere to keep from lingering on it. As his eyes slid over the rest of his room, he felt Luna step into the room after him.

She moved quietly and, had it been anyone else, he would've barely noticed them. But it was hard not to notice Luna, her presence was too pronounced to ignore.

"George?" He felt her fingers wrap around the tips of his own as she stood just behind him, her hand reached out to his.

He cleared his throat of the emotion that threatened to choke him before looking over his shoulder at her. His lips pulled into a forced, yet friendly, smile in the dim light of his wand. "It's dark. Let's see what we can do about that?"

He made no move to slip his hand from hers as he raised his wand with his free hand. In an instant, the few candles that dotted the room were alight.

With the candles lit, he could easily see everything about the room. It hadn't changed much since the last time they had visited the Burrow. Everything was still as it was when they had moved to their store, the few things they'd left littering the room haphazardly.

As he looked around, his eyes landed on a bit of parchment falling half off the desk the two of them had shared. He knew what it was without looking – one of their first order forms from when they had first started their business.

He felt a pang in his gut at that. How long had it been? Just a few years. But it feels like even longer that he's been living without Fred. The year since Fred died just seemed to stretch on endlessly in its misery. Life without Fred just seemed infinite because it was so impossible to handle.

"Are you going to be quite alright?" Luna asked, her hand still on his. Her expression betrayed none of what she might be feeling at the moment, but her eyes gazed at him in a worried manner.

He nodded at her question, his eyes not leaving the desk. "Just thinking," he replied, his voice slightly deep and rough with emotion.

Her hand slid even further into his, squeezing his it slightly as she spoke again. "May I ask what you're thinking about?"

Breaking his gaze from the desk, he looked down at their hands, which were clasped together and, out of reflex or overwhelming emotion, he squeezed her hand back, grateful for her presence.

"Fred."

"Of course," she replied, her tone melodic and understanding. "You miss him."

George smiled wistfully at that. "I do."

"He misses you too," Luna assured him quietly.

He almost chuckles at that. It's the first time anyone had tried to comfort him in such a way. Most of them had just worried about themselves – or how George was dealing with it – and were unconcerned with what might've became of Fred after… Somehow, it does comfort him – at least slightly.

"I'm sure he's too busy to worry about me," George replies, his voice a bit softer than before. The hardness of his voice from earlier in the evening is gone. He's opened himself slightly – to the odd girl in the room he couldn't face.

"He is rather busy," she said in reply, smiling at him. And as George looks at her, he sees the same dreamy expression that he always associates with her.

"But," she continues, noticing she has his attention, "He does find it quite hard to focus on pranking people when he's worried about his brother."

His brow arches slightly at that, but the slight smile on his lips doesn't waver. Luna is trying to cheer him up and he doesn't mind if it seems loony – he likes the idea that his brother misses him and that he hasn't changed wherever he is.

"Does he?" he asked, the amusement in his tone as he looks at her.

She nods, her blonde hair slipping from her braid and falling over her shoulder to frame her face. "He does. He can't plan pranks properly with you moping all the time."

George can't help but chuckle at that. It sounds exactly like what Fred would say. "What does he recommend I do then?"

"Get on with your life," she replies. Her tone isn't firm or dreamy, but is dancing a line somewhere in between.

He ponders that for a moment... moving on sounds tempting. But how is he supposed to move on when he's lost half of who he is?

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><p><strong>Like how I switched up tenses without noticing and am too lazy to change it? Awesome. But seriously, I'll try to do better. <strong>


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